Fixing A Hole
by kaleidoscope soap
Summary: Got a good reason for taking the easy way out, Michelle?" Max said, his face emanating pure mockery. I wanted to punch him for even bothering to hurtle into my life in the first place. So much for fixing the hole that was our inexistent relationship.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER**: Anything you don't recognize is mine. Max's arse belongs to Miss Taymor but in my dreams it's all mine.

**I have always loved Max. Hands down. I **_**have**_** had less-than-innocent dreams about him. *devilish smile* So, what better way to spend my weekends then write about him and none other than ME? Yay. My name isn't Michelle, but that's my middle name. Julia Michelle. The character's name is—Whatever, you'll find out soon, haha. (Michelle from the song 'Michelle')**

**Lots of that Maxalicious Lurv,**

**Julia Michelle**

**Prologue**

"What does it say, Max?" Jude asked as Max, covering his obvious terror with a false mask of anger, chomped on a pickle,

"It says I have to report to an induction center on the seventh," My eyes widened. I could tell this was going to happen. Of course. Why else would Lucy have been acting more fucked-up than she already was? But why was I still so shocked?

"Michelle? Micheeelle?" I noticed a hand waving in front of my face.

"Hm?" I turned to where the hand started from. Max frowned,

"You okay? You sort of whacked out right there…" Max muttered. Sadie jumped in,

"You've got a week to contract some fatal disease, honey." I tried hard to listen but my eyes glazed over in thought and the voices contributing ways to get out of the army just turned out to be a blurred blah-blah-blah. And then the music started to play and all I wanted to do was turn into a clockwork doll and dance until it all would stop. I was about to close my eyes and fall asleep until the acrid smell of burning paper reached my nostrils.

"…burn that paper boy, but you still gotta show…" I heard JoJo murmur. Max looked up at him for a moment, his eyes darted to me, Jude, and Lucy in turn then back to the paper in dismay.

I couldn't tell what was wrong with me.

If Lucy and Jude, the people who so far know him the most out of everyone can keep their cool, why can't I? I've known him for two fucking months, goddamn it! He probably doesn't even like me, let alone miss me when and if he goes. I've been avoiding him as if he was the devil himself. I give him the odd monosyllabic response, like 'um' and 'yeah' and 'nah'. The longest time I've talked to him was when it was only the two of us sitting at breakfast in the morning. "What's up?" he said.

"Not much, Max." I murmured. That was as far as we've gone.

There's a fucking hole where our friendship should be.

If he dies, I'll never have had the chance to make another friend, to add to my list of three-odd people I've met.

If he dies, once again I'll have never done anything to help myself.

I'm going to fix that shitty hole.

**Yay. Prologues are always fun. **


	2. Maxwell's Silver Hammer

**DISCLAIMER: **Everything not mine is Julie Taymor's and the Beatles'.

**Chapter I: Maxwell's Silver Hammer**

"Hey LUCE! Luce, c'mon, man, stop worrying about it, nothin's gonna happen to me. I might go into the army and not get shipped anywhere! Play a lot of cards, learn how to box… C'mon, look at this; it's happening everywhere, man! Maybe LBJ will have a change of heart and call the whole thing off, hm?" Maxwell kissed his sister's blonde head.

It had been a day and a half and still I wasn't getting to the point of fixing the hole. Nope. Not even close. I hadn't even picked up the fucking hammer. I crossed my arms and frowned. I walked up to Jude and managed to crack a smile when he gave one to me. He furrowed his eyebrows when my face scrunched up at seeing everyone so happy and together. I felt like a third—no, fifth wheel. Useless and there only to fill the space,

"Michelle, what's wrong? You look like you've smelled a rubbish bin." I sighed,

"I need a hammer." I stated bluntly in my posh British accent. Wait, did I just say I needed a hammer? Jude smiled and rolled his eyes.

"I have a hammer!" Max yelled just enough so I could hear him from London, "It's silver—but why do you need it?" his voice lowered slightly.

"Ah, nothing. I was just… uh…" At that moment I realized that I was having something of a conversation with him, "It was nothing. But thanks!" Fuck-Damn-Shit-Hole. I just ended it. Nice one, Michelle.

"I'm Max!" He said over the shouting of the man with the megaphone. I looked at him, puzzled.

"What?"

"We haven't really been introduced properly!" He took my hand and pulled me so hard that I hurtled towards him. I slammed into his chest. I felt lightheaded until the asshole started laughing hysterically. At that moment I had no notion to make friends, I didn't give a shit if his head exploded at that moment. I got that utterly furious feeling I got whenever anyone would mock me. I felt like punching him. My left fist was itching to knock a few teeth out of him. But then again, I could use that same left fist to write about it and siphon it out of me, like I usually would. In fact, when I first came to the city, I carried only a suitcase and a portfolio filled with the papers, scattered emotions written on the paper, my only utensils a dictionary and a yellow Dixon Ticonderoga pencil.

"What?" He asked through snickers.

"You're disgusting." I said the first insult that came to my head. I stood up, "For the fucking record, I'm Michelle." I was once again alone, I noticed while I walked away, face red with rage. I untied my frizzy black hair from the ponytail it was in and let it hang free. I could just imagine what Max and the others were doing. Having a fucking laugh at my expense. I was so sensitive these days… but then again being sensitive somewhat fuels true emotion in writing, I guess.

I'm getting really off-track here. This is what I do whenever I'm writing a memoir. It's happened too many times. I moved to New York from my seaside house in Dover. I didn't jump ship like Jude, but we have so much we can relate with. Like how everyone laughs whenever we say "loo", and how mailbox is "post box" and things like that. Ridiculous things that wouldn't necessarily count as friendship. I have mixed feelings about him, like I have through the years with boys I talk to for a few minutes. If I end up becoming "friends" with them I instantly assume that I like them and then I can never stay friends because of this annoying feeling I get.

I honestly don't know why I'm like this. I just am.

'I really am not in the mood to fix this hole', I thought as I trekked up the stairs to my apartment, 'but I should.' I finished. I pushed the door open to see Sadie drowsily pouring herself a glass of milk.

"Hey, Michelle." Her hair was covering her face until she parted it, "y'all said you'd be back by three. What's the rush?" I smiled ruefully and sat down across from her,

"What do you think, Sadie?" I exhaled, exasperated, "It's the usual. I got upset and stormed off. I really need to stop doing that." I murmured.

"Mhm, sweet pea. Give yourself time…" Her mother hen attitude towards me never got old, and I suddenly had the impulse to go hug her, "When you get to know these guys better I'm sure you'll fit in better." I shook my head,

"Everybody has somebody. I'm alone. You've got 'Jo, Jude's got Lucy, and Max has got Pru—"

"Wait, what?" Sadie furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "Prudence and Max? Mm-mm, kiddo." Now it was my turn to be confused.

"What're you talking about, Sadie?"

"I mean that Prudence doesn't like boys." My jaw dropped to the floor.

"Butbutbutbut…. She said she slept with… y'know!"

"They're not together, sweetie."

"Oh. Okay. He's still an asshole." I concluded, crossing my arms. Sadie laughed, throwing her head back in the air,

"That's what you get with boys. Sometimes I feel like I'm forty-six and 'Jo's three. It's nature." She smirked, "…And there they are," The door slammed open, and Max strode in with the swagger of Louis XIV.

"That's my cue to leave. Thanks, Sadie." I gave Jude a sideways glace and walked to my room. I leaned in my doorway, sighing. I looked out the window to the brick wall of the next building in indifference. The click of a lighter and a short puff of nicotine in my face signaled the entrance of Maxwell Carrigan.

"Look, Michelle, I'm sorry, it was just…" I whipped my head around to see his face. I was going to kick his ass.

"_Go away_" I seethed, pushing him out of the way and closing the door, ignoring his protests of "Shit, gimme a chance" and "C'mon, kid!"

Second chance my boot. He's not gonna get one.

There I go again, being an arrogant bitch.

You know what? I couldn't care less.

---

The next morning I woke up seeing a sliver hammer on my bedside table.

Peace offering.

Shit.


End file.
